


I'll Never Get Over Those Blue Eyes

by shugamonie



Series: I'll Never Get Over Those Blue Eyes [1]
Category: Bob Dylan (Musician), Dylan - Fandom, Jimi Hendrix - Fandom, Jimi Hendrix Experience
Genre: Dylix - Freeform, M/M, Slash, Slash Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shugamonie/pseuds/shugamonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix meet at a party one night in the 60's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Never Get Over Those Blue Eyes

Bob Dylan.

He's sitting right across the room, Jimi.

Just get up and go talk to him.

 

But I've been drinking.

What if I say something wrong and he thinks I'm an idiot?

 

I bite my lip as I contemplate.

I watch him taking drinks of his wine, that the man sitting next to him continues to fill whenever Bob finishes a glass.

I just want to talk to him, even if it's only for a minute.

 

Moving myself from the lone chair I sit in at the end of the room, I get up and slowly make my way over to the table that Bob and his acquaintances sit at, chatting casually.

Bob looks to be pretty intoxicated, smiling with teeth at something funny someone had said. He's got a cigarette between his nicotine stained fingers and his thin legs are crossed properly, pants riding up a bit to show off his long black socks and ankle high black heeled boots. He's got a baggy black t-shirt on over his skinny shoulder's, and his tiny forearms are shown off. His sunglasses are off and set down on the table next to his glass of wine.

The people around him seemed delighted to be in his presence, and Bob just seems happy to have some wine.

 

I have to move past a bunch of bodies of party seekers, before I finally make it to the most popular table in the room.

There's no chairs left and I kind of just stand there awkwardly, trying to get Bob's attention, as he laughs at something the guy next to him had just said.

I clear my throat a bit, “Mister Dylan.” I say lightly, although I know my voice could barely be heard.

But he seems to have heard it, or someone next to him got his attention to me.

His eyes meet mine, and I notice how wide they look, unlike the narrowed look they held in most of the pictures I saw of him in the paper, when they weren't covered by sunglasses.

“Hey man, what's up?” He says, as if we've met before, and I can't help but shamefully like the way it sounds.

“Hi, I um, I'm Jimi Hendrix.” I say simply, hoping that he's heard my name before, I mean, I've covered a few of his songs and had to get permission of course from his manager, so he might have heard me before.

I wonder what he thinks about my take on his songs...If he's heard them at all.

I note his high cheekbones and nicely shaped face. His pink, full lips. And that brilliantly fluffy and curly hair that I find extremely groovy.

“I've heard that name somewhere.” He uncrosses his legs and stands up, walking around the table to greet me properly.

He walks pretty smoothly even while intoxicated.

He's a fairly petite man, in size and height. His legs are nice and long.

I'm guessing he weighed 110, and he looked about 5'7.

I hold out my hand and he takes it in his left hand, that's not holding the cigarette, “I've covered a few of your songs.” I tell him.

“Oh you're one of those cats.” He smiles a bit, “A lot of people have been doing my songs, man. Which one are you?” He narrows his eyes a bit, and lets his hand drop from mine and back to his side.

I open my mouth, not speaking for a moment.

I could have sworn I told him my name already, “Um, Jimi Hendrix.” I say.

“Oh I'm sorry man, I don't remember specifically the songs you did. But I'm sure they're great.” While he's talking, he looks back at the table that he was just sat at. He absently brings a hand up to my arm and begins speaking to the man he was sat by at the table, “Hey uh, I'm gonna go talk this guy for a while, alright?” 

The man gives Bob a nod and Bob mutters, “Alright.” Before turning back to me a bit, “Come on man, we can go talk somewhere quieter.” He moves his hand from my arm, and begins to lead me to the bedroom part of the hotel room that the party is being held in.

Once we're in, he closes the door and locks it.

I'm a bit confused, but the alcohol in me stops me from asking why he locked it.

 

He walks over to a bag that sits in the chair by the bed, and I watch him in interest.

“Hey man you don't mind if I smoke do you?” He reaches into the bag for something and I walk around to the other side of the bed, and take a seat on it.

“No, everyone's smoking man, it's cool.” I tell him, and he shakes his head.

“No man, I don't mean cigarettes.” His voice is low, and I look at him for a bit, confused now.

“Pot then?”

“No.”

“Oh...”

 

I'm not too sure of what else there is that people smoke for recreation, but I don't know if I should ask.

 

So he's sitting on the bed, with some things in his hands that are unfamiliar to me. But despite my knowledge of none of it, I still watch him curiously.

He clears his throat, while he loads the strange pipe and then brings out his lighter, “So tell me about you, Jimi. What brings you here tonight?” His total American drawl induced by alcohol is enthralling to me.

I watch his hands as he brings the pipe to his lips, taking a hit from it.

“What brings me here?” I think that's what he asked. I didn't take the question into mind too deeply, having been distracted by his smoking.

He doesn't say anything, as he holds in the smoke of his strange pipe and then lets the smoke out.

“You bring me here Bob, and other irrelevant things.” I say honestly and he looks over at me, still blowing out smoke and he sets his pipe down on the bed side table.

“I bring you here how?” Bob doesn't sound too interested in actually hearing the answer, but that seemed like a normal thing for him, so I didn't take offense from it. Also, he's been drinking, and he just took a hit of...Something.

He leans back against the headboard, and I look to him, as he's now watching me.

His eyes that were just wide when we were out in the main room with everyone, are now narrowed and intense.

He's got a cigarette back between his fingers. “You want one?” He pulls out his pack and holds it out to me.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” I reach over to take the pack and pull one out, even though I've got my own.

Why would I turn down having one of Bob Dylan's?

He hands me the lighter too.

“Jimi, how do I bring you here?” He persists, and I nearly forget what I was talking about before.

“Oh um, I've been wanting to meet you, and my friend said there was a party that you'd be at tonight. So I took the opportunity.” I hoped that didn't sound too creepy or what.

He grins with a light chuckle, “Oh I see, what made you want to meet me?” 

I watch him smoke his cigarette while I light mine, and then reach over to set his lighter and cigarettes down next to his thigh. 

I smoke my cigarette for a bit, before answering him, “I dig you, and your music, your words.”

“You dig me? But you never met me until 5 minutes ago.” He sounds amused, but also interested to hear my answer.

“Exactly, I dig you now.” I smile a bit, and so does he.

“Want some pot?” It's simple, and I watch him as he reaches over to his bag again.

 

I vaguely wonder how much drugs he has in that bag.

 

“You don't think you're high enough yet, Bob?” 

He stops what he's doing and looks over his shoulder at me, and the look in his eyes is contemplative.

Shit, maybe I shouldn't have said it...

“Do you think I'm high enough yet, Jimi?” He honestly wants my opinion, but his voice is also firm.

I stare at him for a bit, my mouth hanging open, “I didn't mean to-”

“Mean to what? Call me a junkie?” He snaps, and turns away from me again back to search through his bag.

“I didn't call you a junkie, Bob.” Suddenly I feel like I shouldn't be there with him. Like I don't have the right anymore because I've pissed him off.

“Might as well have, don't you think?” He retrieves a bag containing weed, and a few already rolled joints.

“No.” I say firmly, “But I'm sorry for pissing you off.”

“I never said you pissed me off.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

 

“No man, don't leave. Come over here.” He motions me over to him and so I move myself closer to him, and see he's holding out a joint to me.

I take it, and then look into his blue eyes that are now wide with expectation.

“First hit?” He smiles.

I smile back, “Alright man,” I take the lighter and then take the first hit.

I pass it to him when I'm done, and I can't help but train my eyes to his lips as he smokes it. His lips look so soft and I feel wrong for finding him pretty.

Especially in person.

His skin is pale, and fare, and I suddenly feel the urge to touch his face.

But I don't.

 

He exhales and passes the joint back to me, but I just watch his face for the moment. 

“Good?” He asks me casually, and I nod.

“Yeah.” Then I take another hit, “So Bob,” Exhale, “Tell me about you.”

He looks at me, and I move my eyes to him.

His eyes are so pretty, he's too pretty for a man.

He scoffs a bit and moves his body to lay down on the bed, all stretched out. I look down at his thin legs, one crossed over the other. His arms held behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. “Tell you about me? What is it that you want to know? And why?” His voice isn't snippy, but he seems sort of amused.

“Might as well get to know each other, since we're both here. I mean, you didn't just bring me in here to smoke some pot with you, did you?” And I actually kind of want to know why he brought me in here alone.

Then there's a knock on the door and Bob nearly groans, “Could you answer that, man?”

“Sure.” I get up and walk over to the door, unlocking it then pull it open.

It's one of the guys from the table that Bob was at, and he looks at me funny, before fixing his eyes on a relaxing Bob.

“Only sharing with him, are ya?” The guy has got a British accent, and seems to be kidding around. But you can see that he obviously feels left out.

“Where's that gal you were talking to earlier, man? Go talk to her. I just wanna hang out in here, alone.” Bob puts the joint out on the ashtray on the nightstand.

“Well then should I ask this bloke to leave?” The British man motions to me and Bob shakes his head.

“No, he's my company. But you could leave, thanks.” He grabs his pack of cigarettes and lights one, “I don't want anyone else knocking on the door either, alright?”

The man stands there for a moment, mouth hanging open, “O-okay, Bob, sorry.” He steps back, giving me one last glance, before closing the door.

“Could you lock that door please?”

So I do.

 

I walk back over to the bed and take a seat on the edge of it, “So now what?” I say.

He sighs and brings a hand up to his face, rubbing at his eyes, “I want to go to sleep.”

I watch him, and then I nod, “Okay well it was nice talking to you.” I begin to stand, but he protests immediately.

“You don't have to go, man.” He pats the bed repeatedly and I raise an eyebrow, glancing back at him and his hand that pats the bed.

“But you're going to sleep.” I state, and watch as his eyes move over to me.

“Do you want to leave?” 

“Well, I don't want to sit here and watch you sleep.” I say with a shrug and he then grins.

“What am I not pretty enough?” His tone is sarcastic, but I hear it differently.

I shake my head, “Oh no, Bob you're very pretty.”

 

The things I say when I'm stoned.

 

His grin only widens and he laughs a bit, turning his body so his face is in the pillows. His laughs continue on for a while, while I stand there and think about why the hell I said it.

“Bob.” I say quietly, and he lets his chuckles die down to little giggles.

“Yes?” It's muffled into the pillow.

“I meant that.”

He continues to giggle, and he turns onto his back “You're stoned man, it's alright.”

I press my lips together, “You're right I am, but I really did mean it.” I watch for his reaction but he still just remains with a goofy grin on his face.

“I'm am as pretty as the moon is quadrilateral.” He says darkly, and I shake my head, climbing back onto the bed next to him.

“You're very attractive, Bob.”

“See now that's better.” He points his finger at me, “You can call a man attractive, but never call him pretty.”

“But what if the man is pretty?” I argue.

“Pretty, Jimi? What is pretty anyways?” He groans and turns back over onto his stomach, holding a pillow against his body.

“Something that's appealing to the eye.”

He grunts.

I smile, “Like you. And like your music is appealing to my ears. And your words are appealing to my soul.” I reach over and place a hand on his shoulder, “But I can see you're not good at taking compliments.” Then I move to get out of the bed again, but he stops me once again.

“Hey man, I can take a compliment.”

“If you can take a compliment, then the moon is quadrilateral.” I smirk and he narrows his eyes at me, and I see a little smirk at the corner of his full lips.

“Good one.”

“Got it from you.”

“Oh really, I had no idea.” Sarcasm again.

I laugh, “Well man, I'm going to head out now.” I motion behind me to the door with my thumb.

He frowns then, “You got somewhere to be?”

I shrug, “Not really, but you seem pretty deprived of sleep, Bob. You should take a rest.”

“You can stay man.” It seems like he wants to ask me if I'll stay, but doesn't have the courage enough to really do it.

 

Sheesh, he's persistent.

 

“Why would I stay?”

He purses those lips of his, and I take note of his bloodshot eyes, “Because, I want someone to stay with me.” He speaks it quietly, but I hear it good enough.

“You don't have a gal you could bring in here?”

“Jesus Jimi, do you want to stay or not?” Now he just sounds stubbornly pissed off.

 

Of course I do, you're Bob Dylan!

 

“Bob if you really want me to, then I will.”

“Then lay down and shut up.” He mumbles and wraps his arm around a pillow and closes his eyes.

I lay on my back, and he lays on his side, facing me. My eyes once again take note of how small he is, how thin. Too small to not be sleeping with covers over him.

“Bob,” I say lightly and he hums in question, eyes still closed, “You should get under the covers, you look cold.” I tell him.

He opens his eyes and looks at me, “Alright.” He moves up further on the bed for the moment, so I can pull the covers back, and then he moves back and I spread the covers over him, also covering myself in the process.

I still lay on my back, and he still faces me, but his eyes are closed again.

I don't stare too long, because he might feel my eyes on him, and I don't want him to think that I'm a creeper.

So I decide to close my eyes too and let the pot send me to sleep.

 

~

 

When I awake in the middle of the night, I briefly forget where I am. The feeling of a body against mine makes it even more confusing, because I don't remember hooking up with anyone.

Then I remember.

I'm with Bob Dylan.

 

The lights are off though, and they weren't off when I fell asleep. He must have turned them off when I was sleeping.

I feel a weight on my chest, and so I bring my hand up to inspect it. My fingers come in contact with the soft curls of his hair and I nearly moan at how soft it is.

I can feel that my high is still there slightly, lingering on.

 

I know it's not morning because no light seeps through the blinds yet.

 

Something in my head tells me that I should get up and leave, that Bob was only high and didn't know what he was thinking when he invited me to stay there.

So I bite my lip, and begin to slip my body from under his. I nearly jump when I hear him groan and wrap an arm around my waist, keeping me there.

“Jimi, you can stay the night.” His voice is groggy, and he sounds hungover already.

“Okay.”

I relax my body back against the bed, and he snuggles closer against me, “Touch my hair again.” It's spoken almost so quietly that I don't hear it.

So I do, I bring my hand up to his hair, slower this time, and run my fingers through it gently, before I can even think that it's weird that he asked me to.

The sigh he releases is so small, it brings a feeling to my stomach that I usually familiarize with seeing a pretty girl.

I guess I'll continue to caress his hair until he falls back asleep.

But as I'm stroking his hair, I feel him move his head, and then he's sitting up. I can't really see what he's doing, although he doesn't leave me confused for long. Next thing I feel, are soft, full lips, pressing lightly against mine.

A shiver runs down my spin, as I feel his arms coming to wrap around my shoulder's, deepening the kiss before I can pull back for an explanation. 

“Oh god,” I whisper against his lips, as I feel him climbing into my lap to straddle me.

I wish I could see him, although feeling him and kissing him is wonderful.

I can feel myself already beginning to get hard as he sits in my lap, right up against my crotch.

His lips and mouth are so soft and wet, and he tastes of cigarettes and wine. 

It makes my head spin with lust.

 

I have to reach over and turn the lamp on, so I can see him.

Once the light is on, I pull away from his lips to look at him, and the sight makes my pants so uncomfortably tight I have to groan.

His hair is a mess of curls, and his lips are bright pink and shining in the newly lit light of the lamp.

He looks down at me with bright eyes, mouth hanging open adorably.

 

So beautiful.

 

I bring a hand up to cup his boney but soft cheek and his blue eyes are watching me curiously.

I lean forward and press our lips back together, relishing in the feeling and sound of him humming lightly.

“Bobby.” I whisper, suddenly wondering how this all started, and why.

He pulls back and looks at me, “Yeah?” His voice is raspy, but so lovely.

“What are we doing?”

His lips turn into a pout as he thinks about it, eyes falling down to my shirt. I feel his fingernails idly playing along the back of my neck.

“We're kissing.” He looks back into my eyes and suddenly I feel that he's got too many clothes on, but I don't move to undress him.

“Oh.” I run my thumb along his high cheek bone, and a light smile crosses my lips.

He chuckles a bit and moves his arms from around my neck to place his hands on my chest, “You've never kissed another guy before.” He states it, rather than asks.

“No, I never have.” I agree, and move the hand that was caressing his cheek, up into his hair, beginning to caress his scalp. 

He moans and I watch his face, as his eyes fill with lust and it's obvious that he's still so wonderfully stoned. 

“Your hair is so soft, Bobby, and so curly, perfect.” I use his hair to bring his face back to mine, pressing our lips together and he moans again.

If he keeps those noises up, I'm not sure if I'll be able to control myself for much longer.

“Think I should get a haircut?” He peers at me with a little smile on his lips and I chuckle, running my thumb over his bottom lip, I shake my head.

“No I like it like this.” I bring both hands up to fluff up his hair even more and he grins at me.

“Okay.” He lets me play with his hair for a moment, and then I stop, grinning widely. “Done?” He asks and I laugh a bit.

“Yeah.”

So he leans forward and we kiss again, this time it's soft and I vaguely wonder if I could ever get over how amazing his lips feel. I place my hands on his tiny biceps and squeeze lightly.

He lets out one of those lovely noises again and I have to pull back, needing to strip him of all of his clothing, because I couldn't certainly have sex with him though all of these clothes.

I begin unbuttoning his casual suit jacket, and he looks down to watch my hands, “You want to do more?” He says it so innocently, and I stop my hands, looking up to meet his lidded blue eyes.

“Only if you want to, Bob.” I take his hands in mine and wait for him to reply, as he stares down at my shirt in thought. I watch him, almost concerned as he doesn't reply for a moment.

“I'd like to try...” He finally looks up to meet my eyes, and he looks almost fearful, “I've just never done anything like this before, Jimi.” He squeezes my hands a bit, and I nod, understanding.

“We don't have to Bob, we can just kiss.” I try to reassure him.

He bites his lip as he thinks, and I wait patiently for him to decide.

My eyes scan all over his sharp features, finding him to be incredibly attractive. Whenever I saw him in the magazines I always found him beautiful, but I never thought too much about it. I figured it was just part of the celebrity factor, being that all celebrities were supposed to be attractive to everyone.

But he is something else though, especially in person.

So desirable.

He looks back up into my eyes and I give him a little smile, running my thumb along his cheek, “You wanna just lay down? We could just go to bed now.” I make sure my voice is gentle. His light blue eyes are conflicted.

“I'm just a little bit nervous, is all.” His lovely blues eyes look down between us at his lap.

I grin, “How do you think I feel? I'm making out with Bob Dylan.” I chuckle lightly and he gives me a tiny smile, shaking his head.

“I'm nothing special.” He fidgets with his fingers anxiously.

My mouth falls open in disbelief, “Bob man, you're so special, there's no one like you.” I tell him honestly, but he only shakes his head and reaches over for his pack of cigarettes.

“You don't have to sweet talk me, Jimi.” He puts the cigarette between his lips and motions to the pack of matches that's on the pillow to my right.

I grab the matches and light one for him, bringing it up to his cigarette, “I'm not trying to sweet talk you, I'm trying to be honest.” I put out the match and toss it aside.

I watch him as he rolls his eyes and takes a little drag off of his cigarette, “You don't need to be honest with me either.”

The cigarette has calmed him right down, he's back to his chilled out self.

“You want me to lie to you, Bob? I'm not going to sit here and lie to your face.”

He looks away from me to the wall and exhales his smoke, “Okay.”

I grab his angled jawline and turn his head toward mine, “Seriously, you don't take compliments very well at all.”

He takes another drag from his cigarette, and exhales through his nose, “There's nothing to compliment.”

“Baby I could compliment you all night.” I place my hands on his hips and he laughs at my words, shaking his head.

“Please don't.” He leans back in my lap bringing his free hand up to my chest, “Let's talk about something else now, how about some more weed?” Climbing out of my lap, he reaches for his bag on the chair.

I don't even say anything this time, I just let him roll another joint and offer it to me along with the matches. Then he's walking over to the window and pushing it open.

He leans out of the window for a few moments, looking out and over at the darkened city.

I take a hit from the joint and then call him over, “Here Bob.”

He turns around and looks at me.

The few buttons on his shirt are undone, and I'd really like to finish where I'd left off.

He slowly makes his way back over to the bed and our eyes are connected the whole time. I hold out my hand to him and he takes it as he climbs onto the bed, taking the joint from my fingers, “Thank you.”

I just watch him as my mind begins to fade off again and his beauty is the best thing I've ever seen.

He lays up against me on his side, his head almost on my chest.

I take the joint as he holds it out for me, and I take a hit, before setting it aside on the ashtray.

“Hey man, I want some more of that--” He begins to protest, but I cut him off.

“Bob we're high enough, alright?” I meet his eyes and smile, “Now, I'd like to kiss you some more if that's alright.”

He sits up on his knees then, and leans in, pressing our lips together. I bring my hands up to his cheeks, deepening the kiss, while he climbs back onto my lap like before.

“Fine with me.” He whispers, and I grin against his pretty pink lips, before kissing him again.

He sighs deeply, as we get into it, and I've never been more turned on in my life by a noise. Unless you count the lovely sounds of the guitar of course. But Bob's noises are pretty up there. Along with his singing voice.

I keep my hands on his slim waist, while he sits back and begins to unbutton my shirt. My eyes fix on his lips, slightly darker now in color from our rough kissing.

“You've got the prettiest face I've ever seen.” I speak lightly through my dazed and faded mind.

He grins widely, “You're very high right now.” Once he's got my shirt completely unbuttoned, he proceeds to slide it off of my shoulders and then toss it aside off of the bed.

He shake my head, “That has nothing to do with what I'm seeing in front of me, baby.” I take in the look on his face as he reacts to my words. He looks a bit surprised, but slightly bashful.

“I already said that you don't need to sweet talk me.” He brings a hand up to my now bare chest, and I smile, shaking my head.

“We've been over this, just take it Bob.” I move my hands to his shirt, working on his buttons while he sits there, watching me with his eyes narrowed.

“Only a few people have ever called me pretty to my face.”

The words leave his mouth and I immediately look up to see his face, “Who, Bob?”

He shrugs, “No one important.”

I nod, and finish unbuttoning his shirt, then doing the same he did to mine, I toss it aside, “The women you've been with?” My eyes scan over his tiny figure as more of it is revealed to me.

He's skinny, skinnier than any woman I've ever seen. But he's beautiful, and his skin is soft and gorgeous.

“My manager calls me beautiful sometimes.” His voice is very drawled out as he speaks it, as if he's very bored with what he's saying.

I narrow my eyes, “Your manager? Why would he say that?--”

Bob shakes his head as I speak, “Don't worry about it.”

I bring my hands up to his cheeks, looking straight into his blue, slightly blood shot eyes, “Bob, managers don't just go around calling their clients beautiful. Especially if he's male and you're male...” I'm beginning to wonder if he's just talking nonsense, because he's high. Or if he's really speaking the truth.

Bob looks away from me and I drop my hands from his cheek, waiting for him to speak or something. But he doesn't say a word, he just plays idly with my belt buckle.

I tilt my head to the side, peering at his lovely face, “Hm, Bob? Why would your manager call you beautiful? How did he mean it?”

He shrugs and purses out those tempting lips of his.

There's something he doesn't want to tell me, about his manager and him.

Then something dings in my brain.

“Bob, are you sleeping with him?”

His eyes shoot up to my face and his eyes are wide, “Jimi, I-I told you I've never been with another man.”

“I think you lied.”

“It's none of your business anyways, so just fuck off about it!” He moves from my lap hastily, and I quickly regret throwing it in his face like that.

“Bob, I'm sorry—”

“Just don't say anything about it anymore, or to anyone ever. Because if he ever finds out about...This right here...Then I'd be in trouble.” He reaches over, grabbing his pack of cigarettes, quickly lighting one.

Now I'm just confused.

“Wait,” I hold up my hand, “So you are sleeping with your manager? You really have been with a man before?”

He sucks on his cigarette, and looks at me from the corner of his eyes, “You don't want me anymore now, do you?”

I sigh and put my face in my hands, shaking my head, “You didn't have to lie, Bob. I wouldn't have thought any less of you.”

He looks down at the comforter, avoiding my eyes.

“Bob,” I reach over, taking his free hand, and he turns his face to the wall, continuing to smoke his cigarette.

“What?”

I run my thumb over his palm, “I still want you.”

He looks at me then, and I can see a sadness in his eyes, “Alright.”

I don't like this change of mood in him, so I take his cigarette from his mouth, and put it out next to the joint, “Come'ere.” I tug at his hand, motioning him to get back in my lap.

Once he's back in my lap, I wrap my arms completely around his body, pulling him tight against me, the side of my face pressed to his chest.

I feel him hesitantly wrap his arms around my shoulders.

“It's okay Bob.” I whisper, “You're one of the most wonderful people I've ever met.”

“You just met me.”

“That doesn't mean anything. I've never felt more connected with someone than I do with you right now.”

His arms squeeze around me tighter, and I can hear him crying softly.

 

We end up falling asleep together, his head resting on my chest, arms wrapped around my body, mine around his waist.

The next time we wake up, it's early in the morning. I look over at the clock, to see that it's only 5:34 am. Bob groans and tells me that he has to be up at 7 am and out of the hotel room by 8 and on his way to the next city for his next show.

My heart nearly drops.

I don't want to say goodbye so soon.

None of us can fall back asleep, so we lie there and talk for a bit, me running my fingers through his fluffy bed messy hair.

“So what's next for you Jimi, what are you trying to do in life?”

I close my eyes, trying to enjoy every second of this moment that I can.

“I'm gonna be a famous guitar player.”

He chuckles lightly, “Well I wish you luck, and I'll keep an eye out for you.”

 

Then I feel the need to kiss him, so I turn us around, so he's on his back. I move myself between his legs and he grabs onto my back.

I move my lips down to his neck and begin licking and sucking there firmly, sending shivers down Bob's spine and he moans sweetly.

“Jimi,” He gasps, arching his back and when his thigh rubs up against my crotch, I cuss and move my hips down into his.

Before I know it, my fingers are covered in the complimentary lotion from the nightstand, and Bob's long legs are spread as he watches me in anticipation.

He's completely shed of all of his clothing, and I just can't keep my eyes off of his beautiful body.

I move my fingers, down to his entrance, while keeping eye contact with him. He nods slightly, and gestures for me to go on, so I do. Carefully as I can, even though I know he's not new to this, I begin to slip my finger inside. His eyes slipped closed, and he hums low in his throat.

I bite my bottom lip, moving my finger further in, then pull it back. 

He's so tight, and I whisper for him to relax, saying that I've got him.

I feel him relax, and that makes it easier for me to move my finger inside of him. I kiss the inside of his thigh, and move my finger quicker, listening for all of the lovely noises that he makes.

“J-Jimi, oh, mmm.” He moans so prettily and I can feel my erection growing larger at every little sound of his voice.

I press my lips to the inside of his thigh, and suck vigorously, while beginning to move another finger inside of him.

“Ahh, mmm, please, don't stop.” He pleads, and I cannot believe how fucking amazing he is.

I keep my fingers moving inside of him, as I move up his body, pressing our lips together in a heated kiss.

He gasps and moans into my ear, arms wrapping tightly around my neck, “Fuck, Jimi, come on, you can fuck me now, I want it.”

Holy shit, he has no idea what he's doing to me, “God damnit,” I stop my fingers thrusting inside of him and just scissor them a bit, “You're so fucking sexy, baby.”

He reaches down, grabbing my erection firmly, stroking it.

“Shit,” I gasp, and move my hips down into his hand.

“Jesus, you're huge.” And by the look in his eyes, he's honestly astounded.

I smile, “Think you can handle it, baby?” I remove my fingers from his warm body, and grab the backs of his thighs firmly in my hands.

“Oh without a doubt.” 

So I press my tip against his slicked entrance and start to push in, and I'm relieved at how loose and relaxed he is, due to the preparation.

We both moan at the friction, and I look down at him, making sure I'm not hurting him. He reaches a hand up and presses it to my chest, before shutting his eyes and letting his mouth fall open.

I keep my eyes on his ethereal face, as I start up a rhythm, moving myself out and back in. Shit, he's so tight, I've never been inside a body this tight and warm and welcoming.

As I've gotten into the rhythm, and he's gotten used to the pain that I know was there moments before, he starts to move his hips along with mine. I leg his thighs go, and lift myself up, placing my hands beside his head, staring down at his entrancing face.

He wraps his legs around my waist, and uses them to tug my hips down harder into him. I moan loudly at the feeling of being so deep inside of his warmth, and my pace quickens in response to his eagerness.

“Oh fuck, oh my—Ahh, yes, Jimi, please, oh god.” He throws his head back against the pillows and I move my hips harder, watching him writhe and shiver beneath me.

“Holy shit Bob, you feel so good, so fucking tight.”

I can tell when I'm hitting his prostate, because every time that I do, he cries out and digs his nails deeper into my back, “Right there, oh fuck, please don't stop.”

“I won't baby, I won't, I got you.” I whisper, into his neck, sucking onto his soft, sweaty skin.

“G-get on your back, Jimi, come on,” He presses his hands onto my chest and I automatically know what he wants, so I grab onto his hips, turn us around so he's sitting up on my lap.

I didn't know it was possible, but once we've switched into this position, I feel myself slip even further inside of his velvety heat.

And by the noises he's making, you'd think he'd be coming right then. But no, he doesn't.

He begins rolling his hips down into mine, and I throw my head back in complete bliss muttering his name like a prayer. I move my hips up into his every time he rolls his hips down and I'm hitting his prostate dead on.

“Ahh, yes, yes, jesus. Mmm, fuck yeah, Jimi. Fuck me, come on, harder.”

So I sit up, and wrap my arms around him, keeping him still, while I thrust my hips up impossibly hard, causing him to cry out my name and I can feel his long fingers nails of his right hand, cutting into my back.

“Yes, right there, god yeah.” 

I would have never known Bob to be so vocal in bed, and it's such a pleasant surprise.

“I'm gonna fucking—Oh god, I'm almost there, Jimi, keep going, just like that, ahh fuck.” 

I've got my face pressed into his chest, kissing and licking him like he's the tastiest treat.

Which he pretty much fuckin' is.

“Come on then, baby. Come on.” I encourage him, slowing down my thrusts a bit, really letting him feel the slide of me inside of him.

“Uhnn, mmm, fuck, fuck.” He's gasping and twitching so wonderfully in my lap, so close it's killing him.

Then his body tenses up and he tosses his head back, “Jimi!” I feel his come spurt out onto both of our belly's, and his inside instantly tighten, making me see stars.

That does it for me. I'm coming deep inside of him, cussing and whispering his name as I continue to thrust shallowly.

I feel tears falling on my shoulder, and can also hear him sobbing.

“Fucking hell, Bob.” I fall back against the bed, bringing him down with me.

He slides off of my lap and falls down next to me.

We're both breathing heavily, and Bob places a hand on my chest. 

I look over at him, smirking a bit and he smiles back, tears drying away on his cheeks. Tears obviously caused by extreme pleasure.

 

I think it's safe to say that I've never had a fuck like that before.

Too perfect for words to even express.

 

He closes his eyes, moving himself up so that his head rests on my chest, “Man, Jimi, I've never been fucked like that.”

I laugh a bit, still trying to catch my breath, “Glad to hear that.”

He laughs too, “Fuck.”

 

Once we've caught our breath and are just lying there, enjoying each others space, I look over to the clock, to see that it's now 6:27.

Time flies when you're fucking Bob Dylan's brains out.

 

He eventually gets up from the bed, and makes his way over to the bathroom. I just lie there and smile to myself, too happy and satisfied to even speak or move.

He takes a quick shower, and when he comes out it's 6:38.

I watch him get dressed and dry off his hair with a towel, before sitting his all done up ass on the bed, staring down at me with a little smile.

“You gonna go shower?” He asks.

“Later.” I'm sort of bummed out that he got dressed and cleaned so soon. I could have gone for another round.

But I guess he's got to be ready.

He nods lightly, “Alright.”

 

We finish the joint from last night and afterward, I decide to hop in the shower.

When I'm done, we sit back on the bed, silently. We both know he's going to have to leave soon, and I don't really have anyway of seeing him again, until he's off tour.

“So I guess I'm going to have to go soon,” He says, sadly, staring down at the mussed up sheets.

I nod and reach over, taking his hand, “I wish you luck, Bob.” 

Our eyes meet and he looks so sad, but so grateful at the same time, “I wish you the same.”

I smile, “I had a good time.”

He laughs lightly and I caress his palm with my thumb, “Me too.”

I pull him over to me, across the bed, and press our lips together.

He gives everything he's got into that kiss, and I can't believe I love him so much already.

He pulls away, and stares back into my eyes, smiling sadly, “I hope we can meet again someday.”

“We will, I promise you.” I bring a hand up to his cheek, pressing my thumb into his lush bottom lip, “I have to see you again, so it will happen.”

I love seeing him smile, every time he smiles my heart soars.

“Okay, good.” He says between his smile.

 

Then I stand from the bed, “Well I should go now, I don't want to be in here when your people come to knock on you door.” I laugh a bit, only because it's the only thing I can do besides cry.

I notice the hickys on his neck, and I really hope no one else sees them.

He nods acceptably, “Okay, Jimi...I'll see you around.” He gives me a small wave as I walk to the door, and I can't help but feel my heart stretching out toward him, begging me to stay with him.

“S-see ya,” I grab the door handle, my eyes still on him.

He gives me one last smile and a wave, “See ya.”

I twist the knob and turn away from him as I pull the door open and shut the door quietly behind myself once I'm out.

I sigh heavily and lean against the door, letting my eyes fall shut.

 

I just stand there for a few moments, before a voice blasts through my silence like glass, “Excuse me, did you just come from Bob's room?”

My eyes fly open and I'm met with a slighter older man, maybe early 40's, his hair is graying and kind of slicked back, and he's got on tinted eye glasses. He's got a little tummy as well.

My heart begins to beat quickly and I stutter over my words, wondering who the hell this guy is, “I uh, um, I was just--”

“Did you fuck him?”

 

My mouth dries up and I remember back to what Bob was saying about his manager.

This must be his manager.

 

I shake my head rapidly, “Uh, no sir we just smoked pot and talked about music all night.”

I can't see his eyes through his tinted glasses, but by his silence, I can tell he's not convinced, “Okay well you better be on your way now.”

“Yeah, bye now.” I pretty much speed walk out of that fucking hotel room, closing the door gently behind me.

 

As I'm walking out of the hotel and down the street, I think about Bob of course, and how I hope that his manager doesn't lash out at him for this.

I really hope he doesn't.

Bob doesn't deserve it.

Man, I really care for that guy now.

I'd be really pleased if I could meet him again someday. 

Let's hope that I do.

 

~.~.~


End file.
